War Hero
by AvatarRocky
Summary: Just a little Jara one-shot to get me back into the swing of things with my writing. I'm a little bit more common. Enjoy, review!


**This is a result of procrastination and lack of sleep. I just thought "Maybe I'll type something today." Guess I did.**

**War Hero**

Every time she walked past it, she felt the same three feelings: pride, depression, and warmth. One may think that these feelings don't go together, but in Mara's heart, they did. Every time her eyes cast up to that portrait, the picture she had enlarged years ago, those same feelings surfaced. There were thirteen marks on the outer frame, thirteen marks for thirteen years. It had been thirteen long, long years. Nevertheless, Mara was filled with pride. She was proud that he had the courage to do what he did. His job had moved them out into sunny California, a complete change in climate. The change proved to be worth it. However, every day she walked into an empty bedroom, climbed into an empty bed. She watched the door open and close, but never saw the face she longed for. She stared at the children as they stared at the painting, seeing a face that they had never seen long enough in the flesh to remember. There was a week where he visited, the week that later led to the birth of the twins, an event he wasn't present for. The six year old siblings had never met their father, only paid reverence to his portrait. This just tore Mara's heart to shreds. Seeing her children look up, eyes gleaming and lips quivering, at their father's face was flat out depressing. The warmth in her heart, however, contradicted all of the sadness. Looking up at that picture, Mara felt protected. She could almost hear his soothing voice in her ear, his warm breath on her neck. When his blazing blue eyes gazed down upon her, they seemed to soften, just for her. Even though not physically there, he protected his house and family just with his gaze. Any visitors who came by seemed to be a little shaky around the portrait. Once, Mara's mother had even told her she should take it down, that it was scaring away people from the house. However, Mara refused to touch the portrait. She respected it as much as her children. However, unlike her children, she had the memory of the man on the wall. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw him standing behind her, arms around her waist. However, every time she turned around, he was gone. He overshadowed her, but he was never there. He watched over her with distant eyes. He was in two places at once, this man, a true hero. The children saw it too. They would come home with a good grade and show it to the picture before her, flashing their success in front of their father. He was the subject of the bedtime stories every night. The Framed Man, they would call him. The Man of Many Wonders was Daddy. It made Mara a proud mother to know that her kids still respected this man, even though they had never gotten to know him. He had missed the chance to carry them as infants, fill and refill their bottles, changing their diapers; he had missed all of that. Mara pitied him, not herself. A mother raising two twin children on her own, and she pitied their father. He didn't walk away. He didn't abandon the family like some fathers do. He _missed_ it. He had missed out on his beautiful daughter's first dance recital, his son's first swim meet. Of course, she sent him pictures, but pictures can't make up for events. He had missed, and was still missing, a critical part in his life.

A knock on the door shook Mara out of her thoughts. She had been staring at the portrait for over half an hour. She hurried to the door, and opened it to a mailman with his cap down low, carrying a cardboard box.

"Special delivery from the U.S. Army, ma'am," He rumbled. "Are you Mara Clarke?" She smiled at the mention of her last name and answered the man.

"Indeed I am."

"I'm very sorry. I was asked to make sure you open the box." Mara was confused as to why he was sorry. She was willing to open the box in front of him. When she tore it open, nothing could've prepared her for what she saw.

Jerome's clothes were packed in a bundle. His watch, his comb, and the gels she sent him every year (to tease him, of course, for the army had buzz cut his hair) were packed in a little bag. There was a note on the top. Mara had read enough books to figure out what the note said. Her eyes started to blur, and she could only read some of the letter.

_We are sorry to inform you…..Clarke….brave young man…soldier's farewell…..in peace._

When Mara looked up, tears running down her face, she saw that the mailman had let himself in, and was staring at the portrait. Reese and Rebecca came running down the stairs together, and stopped when they saw the man. When the man turned to face the children, Mara still couldn't make out his face, but he fell to his knees. He removed the cap and let it fall. As soon as the children saw him, they knew. Mara could finally tell without making out his face. He was back. The Framed Man had come to life, and had packed up his army clothes to pull a prank on Mara. She couldn't stay mad long, however, because Jerome had tears running down his face, squeezing his children, the kids loving every moment of it. Finally he stood, walking toward Mara. He didn't have to walk very far because Mara flung herself into his arms, and he spun her around before setting her down and squeezing her.

"Don't ever try something like that again. She scolded him, head buried in his chest.

"All is fair in love and war." Jerome replied quietly, but loud enough to carry meaning. She hugged him harder.

"Mommy," Rebecca interrupted. "Did they bring back our war hero?" Mara ruffled her hair and looked into Jerome's blaring blue eyes.

"Yes, Rebecca, our war hero is home." 

**It was nice writing again, getting back into the habit. Is anyone participating in NaNoWrimo**


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